


anything to simplify the math

by allonsysouffle



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, anyway. points. love those neurodivergent kids, no capitalization, sort of stream-of-thoughts style?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:18:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsysouffle/pseuds/allonsysouffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jeremy will never not be breaking.<br/>matt only ever needs more time.</p>
<p>they both need someone to pick up their pieces when they shatter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	anything to simplify the math

**Author's Note:**

> i've fallen too hard for jerematt  
> hope u enjoy  
> {u can find me on tumblr at jeremdoley, and twitter at @saltwaterrayne!}  
> -E

the thing is that they only want to walk without shattering.

the thing is that jeremy is always collapsing in on himself.

the thing is that jeremy is an apartment building with shitty foundations in an earthquake that’s never below eight on the richter scale. the thing is that jeremy will never not be breaking.

he’s practically curled into a ball, smaller than himself, all ebbing and waning and receding. he’s all tears and red-face and stuck in a repeating memory-  _please don’t remember boston, please don’t ever forget boston_ \- and he can feel the ground break under his body, he can feel the sky breaking over his head.

the sky breaking over his body.

the sky breaking in his heart.

 

* * *

 

the thing is that matt is stalling.

the thing is that matt is sick of clock-ticks and waiting and fingertip clutches. the thing is that matt only ever needs time.

he’s just sitting, silent, trying not to let himself slip again, trying not to let go again. numbers, numbers, think of numbers and try and categorize them, please don’t go numb again,  _matt, are you hearing me, matt, just think of numbers-_

he is trying to feel something again, maybe this time it’ll be pain, sharp- something, anything sharp-  _for the love of god, matt, what are you still doing on the floor-_

 

* * *

 

the thing about them is that they will always be in pieces. in shards.

 

* * *

 

it starts with green carpet and a diploma on the wall.

they meet for the first time in a group therapy session neither of them willingly signed up for. everyone there is tired.

the counselor tells them to go around the circle of roughly fifteen kids- all a little broken- and introduce themselves. they know the drill by heart by now.

“jeremy. panic disorder. situational depression- i mean. that’s what the therapist said, anyway. moved here from boston three months ago. so that’s kinda why.”

“matt. obsessive compulsive. kinda depressed, i guess-”

matt doesn’t like to finish his sentences, he’s always tongue-tied trying to make them sound perfect, and it’s not like they care what he says, anyway, it’s not like he matters-

they move on across the circle. the sentence remains a fragment.

“michael, anger management issues, adhd, you know the deal, i’m fuckin’ mad a lot…”

“lindsay, uh, i’ve got general anxiety disorder, pretty run-of-the-mill…”

“ja-ryan, sorry, yeah,  _ryan_ , bpd, they think, they’re still not sure…”

“um, i’m ray, atypical autism…”

matt taps his fingers on his knees as they go around the circle, names and diagnoses, names and diagnoses,  _come on, matt, you can get through this, don’t worry about remembering all their names, it’s okay, you’re okay-_

and suddenly jeremy’s talking again, all careful-like, like, like he doesn’t want to bite down too hard on the words for fear of hurting them, like, like he is trying to taste every syllable.

“uh. i guess, for me, it’s just homesickness but worse, just, i don’t know, it kills me to know i can’t control this, this, this life, i can’t control where i go or what i do, and it hurts to leave behind routines.”

matt can’t imagine. even making time for this session sent him reeling. he wouldn’t be able to bear starting everything over again.

jeremy’s still going, breathing sort of hard- he’s trying to get the words past the lump in his throat- talking like it’s his last day on earth, “and i’m just so lost, uh, what’s the word, i’d say scared but it’s worse, it’s just different, like there’s a part of me missing, like i’m paralysed, and i have to deal with the panic disorder on top of that and- and there’s nothing i wouldn’t give to just go back there, to boston, you know? to my friends? to my support system? it just sucks knowing that i think i would be at least sorta  _okay_  if we’d never moved.”

there are a few murmurs of encouragement, and matt’s breath is stuttering in his throat.

it’s silent for a moment, and he realizes it’s his turn to talk- his heart trips- he’s missed his cue, he should just leave, start again, he fucked it up, it’s all been ruined-

“matt?” the counselor prompts. “matt. are you alright?”

“uh.”  _numbers, think of numbers, one, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen…_

the boy named jeremy furrows his eyebrows, and the girl- lindsay?- looks down at her feet. matt runs through the numbers in his head, recognizes the signs, it’s all going wrong again and it’s all thanks to him, and they all hate him. don’t they?

“pass?” he manages to say, breathy and scared.

he doesn’t say another word in the session.

he can’t keep doing this.

outside, everyone is getting picked up by thin-haired mothers and dark-circled fathers in minivans. jeremy and matt stand on the curb by themselves.

matt is staring blankly at his watch, counting the seconds passing, wrists taut in place. jeremy looks over, shivering a little, worrying a little more.

“you okay, man?”

matt jumps, and barely stops himself from freezing up after he loses count of the time.

“u-uh, well. okay is a stretch, b-but that’s most days.” he’s proud of that answer, and the whole twenty-three stammering seconds it took him to construct it. he timed it.

jeremy smiles wanly. “yeah. yeah, sounds about right. same here.” he pauses, kneading his palms together. “what school do you go to?”

“i’m home-schooled.”

“lucky.”

matt feels a laugh burst out of him. “y-yeah, if you don’t mind having your mom teach you.”

jeremy laughs, sweet as sugar, and just like that, a car pulls up, it’s matt’s mom, and they were only talking for sixty-seven seconds but matt already feels more secure, less alone in the world, because  _there is someone here who understands me._

 

* * *

 

jeremy is still trying to get his bearings but at least he has one person, a weekly meeting, a short parking-lot conversation to look forward to.

the world is still screaming at him, screeching  _you do not belong in this town, boy_ , and his brain is trying to pull him back to boston, and yet there is always matt, there is always the group therapy session, there is finally something in his life he can look forward to.

but one day he comes home from school after bombing a math test and embarrassing himself in front of the couple of people he’s talked to, and it seems like the sky is falling again, and it seems like his chest is caving again-

it’s another attack, another- isn’t he taking medication to stop this from happening, seriously- and he curls up on his bed and tries not to think about dying.

and then, his phone buzzes.

**[3:47:08 PM] matt:**  hey!

he forgot that he gave his number to matt at the last session. he’s on the brink, on the cusp of his own downward spiral, and his hands shake as he picks up the phone.

**[3:47:46 PM] jeremy:**  uh hi

**[3:47:59 PM] jeremy:**  sorry, not the best time

**[3:48:09 PM] jeremy:**  can u text back in like an hour ?

**[3:48:21 PM] matt:**  oh.

**[3:48:45 PM] matt:**  alright! hope you’re okay.

 

**[4:48:22 PM] matt:**  hey! you better now?

**[4:48:50 PM] jeremy:**  yeah

**[4:49:35 PM] matt:**  what happened?

**[4:50:00 PM] jeremy:** yknow, anxiety stuff, its all fine now

**[4:50:37 PM] matt:**  that’s good. i know the feeling.

jeremy bites his lip, and for the first time he realizes he’s thinking past tomorrow. he’s thinking about the fact that he finally has someone to talk to, someone who won’t leave when he breaks, someone who knows how it feels to be so different. so he smiles a little and types out a question.

**[4:51:44 PM] jeremy:**  so do u wanna go see that new james bond movie with me? reviews r shitty but

**[4:51:58 PM] jeremy:**  looks fun anyway

**[4:52:20 PM] matt:**  oh, sure! i’d really like that, actually.

**[4:52:43 PM] matt:**  but, uh, i don’t like being late. i might be super early. just so you know.

**[4:53:01 PM] jeremy:**  hey, im the same way, its chill

**[4:53:27 PM] matt:**  oh. perfect match, then!

**[4:53:50 PM] jeremy:**  yeah!!

**[4:53:59 PM] jeremy:**  so tmrw at seven?

**[4:54:16 PM] matt:**  sounds good to me! see you! :-)

**[4:54:21 PM] jeremy:**  :D

 

* * *

 

it’s a couple of months later and jeremy and matt hang out all the time, now, it’s sort of ridiculous, really, every damn day they’re together, playing video games or studying or shooting the shit. and it’s so perfect, so precious, because finally they have found a salvation in each other.

but the thing is, matt is catching himself thinking things out of order around jeremy.

they’re playing fallout in jeremy’s room, and they’re laughing at something stupid, some glitch in the game, and matt is holding his chest because he’s laughing so hard he’s sure he’s split his gut, and jeremy is bright-eyed.

and matt is tongue-tied.

he thinks, for a split-second, of lips and longing and hands clutching wrists.

he thinks, for a split-second, that there might be something more here.

it’s the feeling of a bitter realization- he’s counting all of the ways this could be ruined, all of the shitty sentences he could construct into a confession, all of the texts he wouldn’t be able to send.

because jeremy is just so damn nice. because matt’s never had a friend like him. because jeremy doesn’t mind that matt has to search every corner of the game environment six times just to make sure he doesn’t miss anything. because matt’s never really enjoyed anyone’s company, and that’s just the thing.

the thing is that he never wants this to end. the thing is that he wants to curl up in jeremy’s lap like a fucking cat.

the thing is that he’s beginning to fall.

_one three five seven eleven thirteen seventeen nineteen twenty-three-_

two.

 

* * *

 

it’s a few weeks later and matt is traipsing over to jeremy’s house to play some more fallout. the door is unlocked and no one else is home and he’s glad- he’s not super into talking to other people’s parents, they always leave him stuttering.

but jeremy’s door is closed, and there’s no video game music, no controller clicking- just something that sounds a lot like a small boy crying into his pillow.

matt slowly opens the door and steps inside- jeremy is curled up on his bed, and he jumps when the hinges creak, and he nearly chokes when he sees matt.

“n-no, no, matt, fuck- fuck, i’m sorry, no-”

matt’s already running through everything in his head, every helpful tip, every therapy session, anything to clear out jeremy’s head. anything to simplify the math. he forgets about his stupid crush and hugs him, he thinks it’s helping at least, _fuck, i’m not the right person for this…_

“what’s wrong, hey, is something wrong, can you talk about it?”

“i- everything, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m a mess-”

“no, it’s okay, don’t worry, i’m here-”

“fuck, there’s so much wrong with me, matt, fuck, everything is bad-” hiccup- “bad-” hiccup- “bad.” hiccup.

matt can’t find the words, he is forgetting all of the numbers, it’s all he can do to just stroke jeremy’s back as he sobs into his shoulder.

“hey, hey, you’re fine,” matt whispers, they’ve been touching for three minutes and twenty seven seconds now, “you’re fine, i’m here, you’re not broken, i promise,” he’s not sure if he’s speaking to jeremy or himself now, “this is temporary,” he hopes, “it’s gonna be okay.”

jeremy gulps in air, throat cold and dry and constricting itself. he feels almost depersonalized, spiralling, on the cusp of something dark- but matt’s hands are warm, and he feels real, and he softens. his fingers scramble to clutch at matt’s wrist, the thump-pulse of his veins a calming rhythm to combat the manic storm.

somehow, he manages to heave out a laugh, “yeah, yeah, we’re okay, i’m- i’m okay.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” there’s a rustling as matt begins to untangle himself. “no- no, can we… can we just stay like this for a while?”

“yeah,” matt says through a smile, relief flooding through his head, and, for a moment, there aren’t any numbers. just him, and jeremy, and the floor under their knees.

just the world. no need for overanalysis.

jeremy feels it too, the calm of it, the silence of it, the warmth of their closeness.

matt counts. they sit there for sixteen minutes and ten seconds before jeremy scooches back to lean against his bedroom wall, arms crossed over his knees.

“thanks for being here,” he says. “thanks for… everything. for being you. for-” he huffs. “i don’t know. just. thanks for sitting with me. no one else in the damn world would ever do that.”

“you’d do the same for me.” matt’s surprised by the words that fall from his lips, but they’re honest words, the lot of them.

jeremy looks up, eyes shining a little, dimples growing beside his lips. “of course.”

they are both hiding confessions behind their teeth.

matt stays over.

they play fallout.

 

* * *

 

the thing is that it’s always easier to sort things out through a computer screen. they’re chatting on AIM one day, around a month after jeremy’s attack (though he’s had a few more since then), and it all seems so fragile.

jeremy likes matt. a lot. he’s not sure when he fully realized, but he’s never been more sure of anything. they’re so close now, though, and every letter he types could break their entire friendship.

and their friendship is the only thing keeping him rooted to the ground nowadays.

_jerem6401:_  yea. so. anything rly awesome happening in ur life lately?

_axialmatt:_  ha. not really. not ever. you know me. why?

_jerem6401:_ no reason

_jerem6401:_  just curious

_axialmatt:_  huh. are you okay?

_jerem6401:_ yea?

_jerem6401:_  just thinking a lot

_axialmatt:_  that can be dangerous.

_jerem6401:_  no kidding, haha

_jerem6401:_  um

_jerem6401:_  can i say something weird

_axialmatt:_  jeremy, everything you say is weird.

_jerem6401:_  no i mean

_jerem6401:_  uh

_jerem6401:_  its nothing

_axialmatt:_  ??

_jerem6401:_  i- fuck

_jerem6401:_ ur probably the best friend ive ever had

_jerem6401:_  and im rly grateful that we met

_jerem6401:_  so thanks.

matt is typing out a response when another message pops up.

_jerem6401:_ also i kinda rly like you a lot.

_jerem6401:_  there.

_jerem6401:_ said it.

_jerem6401:_  (like, in a not-friend way)

_axialmatt:_  oh

_axialmatt:_  wait

_axialmatt:_  what?

matt’s shaking a little bit, acting on instinct, and that’s the thing, he can’t act on instinct, so he’s not even trying to process it, he’s just concentrating on starting up a skype call, _c’mon, you know the buttons, click, click, damn it-_

it’s only after the ringing starts that he realizes.

this is a good thing. this is what he wanted.

_oh, f- wait, god, wait a second-_

“matt?” jeremy’s face appears, glitching and blurry on the screen, and he’s sitting on his bed and hugging his knees. “matt, listen,  _shit_ -”

“you’re cute when you’re flustered,” matt blurts out without taking the time to run through the words.

jeremy’s still rambling a little, but he trails off when he hears matt. his hand goes to his mouth. “what.”

“you’re cute when you’re mad,” matt continues, trying to make sense of his thoughts, “like, when games freeze, or if you get something wrong when we’re studying, and you’re cute when you’re happy, like, remember when you got a hundred percent on that ap history test, or, or, when we beat that stupid indie game, uh, you’re cute when you’re talking, and you’re cute when you’re not- i-” he sighs. finishes the sentence. “man, i like you too.”

jeremy is silent for a while, just audio static and a grin wide as the sky, and they’re both trembling, there, in their respective bedrooms, they’re both smiling, and it was so unexpected but of course they like each other, of course they’re meant to be together, they knew it from the very start.

“well,” says jeremy, laughing a little, “okay then. good. good.”

“yeah.”

“yeah.”

“uh-”

“come over,” says jeremy, running his fingers through his hair, “we gotta- we gotta talk about this, oh my god, matt, what is my  _life_ , matt, fuck, holy hell, i can’t believe this.”

“yeah, yeah, i’ll be over soon, gimme a minute, i need a sec-”

 

* * *

 

the thing is, this is only the beginning.

the thing is, matt doesn’t need more processing time around jeremy. he stops counting seconds so much. maybe it’s the meds or the therapy but maybe it’s just jeremy, maybe it’s just knowing he’s got someone to lean on, _oh_ , maybe it’s just hope.

the thing is, jeremy stops falling into black holes and starts falling in love, and maybe it’s a cliche and maybe it’s romanticized and maybe he’s just pretending like the sky isn’t falling but at least he’s happier. at least he has his person.

the thing is, they’ll never not be broken.

but they thank their lucky goddamn stars that they’ve found someone to pick up their shards when they shatter.


End file.
